Venus
by skygirl55
Summary: Richard Castle hated soulmates. Not his soul mate—he did not know who she was or if she even existed—but the basic concept of soulmates. And that was saying something because, in general, Richard Castle was not a man who hated much. [Caskett Soulmate AU]
1. Chapter 1

**Castle & Beckett Soulmate-AU**

* * *

Richard Castle hated soulmates.

Not _his_ soul mate—he did not know who she was or if she even existed—but the basic concept of soulmates. And that was saying something because, in general, Richard Castle was not a man who hated much.

Ever since he was old enough to read, the concept screamed at him from every outlet of media, every source of information. Television ads, newspaper clippings, radio spots and the billboards—oh, the billboards. _Find your soulmate here! Soulmate search—accuracy guaranteed! Soulmate palm readings—we'll get you one step closer!_

The commercialization of it all made him sick. He wondered what it was like back in the old days—fifteen, twenty, forty years earlier. Back when you actually had to search for your soulmate and not use a service that guaranteed—guaranteed!—for the low, low price of $99.99 they'd find your soulmate in thirty days or less or your money back!

What was it like, he wondered, to meet someone and feel that spark, that chemistry and wonder could this be them? There had to have been a time when finding out involved dating—actual dating and not going out for wine and then to a tarot card reader to determine whether the odds were stacked in your favor or against. There was no romance to that, but then again maybe romance was dead. Maybe it had died out long ago.

* * *

"…all I'm saying is: why would I ever pay some crazy lady in a purple turban to tell me all these vague bullshit things about how to find my soulmate; I'd rather be single forever."

"Here, here!" Castle could not help but chime in to the conversation he overheard behind him at the bar that evening. Turning around in his seat, he saw a trio—two men and a woman—standing at a high top table just a few feet away. The woman, who had chin length hair in a color too dark and harsh for her skin tone—it reflected an eggplant tone even in the dim bar light, though she would have been much better suited with honey-brown, perhaps auburn—gazed over at him as though he'd offended her ancestors.

"Ah, sorry." He muttered out, flashing a dopey smile to her and her companions. "Didn't mean to intrude into your conversation."

"No, no, this is good." The shorter of the two males with bright blue eyes, a square jaw, and sandy brown hair, agreed. "This way it'll be two against one."

"Yeah, you won't be the only romantic cynic, Beckett," said the taller man, a Latino with a haircut indicative of time spent in the military added.

Castle slid off his seat and took the two steps needed to meet the group at their table. At the high top they stood elbow-to-elbow, which was all right. Flanagan's was so crowded that night, he would not have been able to hear them over the rumble of various conversations had they stood any further apart.

Seeing as he had purposely come to the cop bar in hopes of some inspiration, it was not hard for him to guess the profession of the threesome, though catching a glimpse of the badge on the female's hip was a nice confirmation. He gazed across the table at her, brown eyes flecked with green observing him as though they were seated at a table in an interrogation room rather than a chipped Formica table top littered with cracked peanut shells. For the first time in a long time Castle felt chills traveling down his spine; he simply had to know more about her.

"What's your name, man?" the smaller man asked.

Beckett brought her tumbler full of amber liquid up to her lips and said in a bored voice, "He's Richard Castle."

Castle's brow arched. Oh, and she was a fan, too? Color him one hundred percent more intrigued. "She's right. Richard Castle, novelist." He shook the hands of the two men and learned the shorter was called Ryan, the taller Esposito. Finally, the woman extended her hand and she said in a clipped tone, "Detective Kate Beckett."

"Detective Beckett." He repeated, enjoying the way the name felt on his lips. "May I ask what division you're part of? Robbery? Major crimes?"

"Homicide."

 _Perfect_.

"So back to our discussion: I'm telling you that palm reader is absolutely right about Jenny and me; no question in my mind."

Castle practically snorted into his drink glass. He didn't want to judge too harshly a man he did not know well—particularly not one who wore a loaded weapon on his hip—but there was just no way; practicality was against him. "You actually called one of those nine hundred numbers?"

Ryan shook his head. "No, it was a sweet lady with a storefront down in Chinatown; Jenny found her. She said we were a ninety-nine percent match. We're already planning our trip to Venus; hopefully we can go sometime next month."

The female detective clicked her tongue with disbelief and proclaimed, "Kev, you cannot be serious. How long have you guys been together again? Two months?"

"It's not about time, Beckett. When you know, you know. Right Javi?"

"He has a point." To illustrate this, the man tugged up the left sleeve of his olive green Henley shirt to reveal the shadowed print of the name Angela Rodriguez on the inside of his wrist. To the newcomer, the detective explained, "Met her the first day of basic and I knew right away. Used our first leave to go to Venus."

Castle smiled at the man. Though he didn't necessarily agree with the institution, he could not be unhappy for those who had found their match. "That's great; how nice for you guys."

The female detective snorted and made a snide comment about niceness under her breath. When the writer's brow wrinkled, Esposito explained. "She was killed during her second tour in Iraq."

Castle winced and apologized to the man, who nodded stoically. "That's the reason I can't buy in to it—it condemns too many to loneliness."

One person out of six billion? It just didn't make sense. What if your soulmate—your singular match on the planet—lived in a remote part of the world where you could never meet them? You'd search and search all your life and never find that one person—your other half. If you did find a person you thought was the one and used your one and only trip to Venus, you'd both end up disappointed and then what kind of life would you lead? Sure, there were those that chose to never go and he suspected he would ultimately be one of them, but still—the wonder would always be there.

Oppositely, there was Detective Esposito scenario. He found his one true match and had been happy for how long? Months? Years? Surely no more than several given that he appeared to be in his mid-to-late thirties and the war had been over for some time. He would know for certain any woman he met from then on was not his match. Of course this did not condemn him to a life of unhappiness—at least, not in Castle's mind—but it was a complication, a sadness that in his opinion no one needed.

Much to Castle's surprise, the female detective gestured towards him with her glass and said, "Agreed."

Ryan scoffed. "And here I thought an author would be more of a romantic."

"I write murder mysteries."

The detective's face fell.

"Other than Espo do you know anyone who's made a successful trip to Venus?" Beckett asked her colleague.

"Sure—of course. Admittedly, it's not _everyone_ I meet, but there are people. My parents and, if memory serves, your parents as well, Kate."

"And look how well that turned out." She muttered behind her glass before finishing the liquid in one gulp.

Castle's eyes grazed over her, intrigued. If her parents had been soulmate matched it was unlikely that they had divorced—possible, but unlikely. This lead him to assume they'd suffered the same fate as Esposito and one of them had died. Instantly, he was curious as to which and how that parent had met their end. Of course, he knew better than to ask or mention it, but the thought was still there; he was, as always, victim of his macabre subconscious.

"What about you, Castle? Your parents matched?"

"I honestly don't know. My mother squandered her Venus trip on a foolish youthful tryst—her words, not mine. I never knew my father, so for all I know they _could_ have been, though I doubt it." No, in his mind, Martha Rodgers' soulmate fell into one of two categories. Either he was a flamboyant actor like her who had met his tragic end by reenacting a Shakespearean play using real poison just for the drama of it all, _or_ he was a boring actuary, punching numbers somewhere in a New York City high-rise and upon encountering the illustrious actress would find her initially more terrifying than intriguing and scurry away before they ever had the chance to interact.

"Well, that's not going to stop us." Ryan continued. "Jenny and I are still going to Venus."

"Then may I wish you the best of luck?" Castle said, clinking his beer glass against the smaller man's. Then, he turned towards the other two occupants of the table. "I won't take up any more of your time this evening, detectives, but thanks for the conversation; it's been interesting."

Though he expected a limited response from the strikingly beautiful detective, he instead received a head nod. "Thanks for the backup, Castle."

He nodded back. "Any time, Detective."

* * *

Three weeks after their initial meeting, Castle stood behind the two-way glass mirror of an interrogation room watching Detective Kate Beckett in action, unable to believe his luck.

Watching her was like witnessing a highly choreographed dance. She knew exactly when to settle in and wait, make her suspect sweat, when to ply him for a weak point, searching for an opportunity, and, finally, when to strike, ready for the kill. Pulling the confession from the sniveling twenty-something low level dealer turned murderer took her less than fifteen minutes; it had been fascinating and, as it happened, quite inspirational.

She was it; she was the one who would get him out of his Post-Derrick-Storm writing funk. He had been struggling—floundering, really. Jotting down notes, trying to outline—which, in of itself was a joke; when did he ever outline? He was desperate to get words on a page after a six month drought. Quite frankly, so was his publisher.

Just a few days shadowing Beckett and her team had him jotting notes on napkins and stolen stickie notes from her desk. Nothing concrete, just ideas for cases and cool cop lingo he stole from Ryan and Esposito. He wanted to focus on a homicide detective team, but was that enough?

Watching her Mirandize a suspect, he knew; the story simply unfolded before him. The book wouldn't be about the team—well, it would, but not specifically. No, it had to be about a central figure; her. Kate Beckett or a fictionalized version of her. Smart, strong, savvy, and sexy as hell.

He wanted—no, _needed_ —to write about her; to know her story. God willing, she would continue to let him shadow her so he could learn more about her. He already found her incredible and knew his amazement would only grow the more he got to know about her. That was assuming she'd allow the shadowing to continue. It had, to that point, been going reasonably well. Granted, it had only been a few days, and she had yelled at him three times, but they were just beginning to feel each other out. They'd soon find their stride. They had to; he would make sure of it.

* * *

The first time he kissed her, he knew.

For Ryan and Jenny's wedding, they had decided to go without dates together, which in Castle's mind translated to: they were each other's dates. They sat together in the church and at the reception. They laughed, drank, and ate with their friends before hitting the dance floor. Beckett insisted she'd had enough and that her feet were too tired for another up-tempo beat, but when a ballad came on, he snuck an arm around her waist and insisted on just one more song.

They swayed together to the music, their faces so close they were a breath away from touching. As the song came to a close, he pressed his lips against the soft skin beneath her cheekbone as a silent thank you for the dance. She turned her head and, without hesitation, pressed her mouth against his. It was simple and sweet, but Castle felt his world flip upside down and so he knew; she was it; she was his match.

A little later on, when she smiled at him a little shy, a little drunk, and suggested her walk her to her room, he didn't hesitate. They held hands walking towards the elevator and when they had to crowd themselves in a back corner to allow other guests on, Castle's lips dusted gently across her forehead. Outside her fifteenth floor room, she gazed up at him from beneath her brow, her eyes dark and wanting, grabbed him by the tie and led him inside the unlocked door; he didn't hesitate to follow.

A night of making love only solidified Castle's feelings. In just twelve short hours he went from a man still skeptical of finding a soulmate despite the evidence etched on the left wrist of both bride and groom, to mentally reviewing just how quickly he could make his trip to Venus. In his mind, there was no question.

Kate Beckett was extraordinary. Kate Beckett was amazing. She was smart and savvy, strong and brave, beautiful and sexy as hell. The way she laughed and kissed him as they slipped naked beneath the sheets made his heart soar. And, when the sun's light began filtering in their room and he opened his eyes to see her still sleeping, curled in his embrace, he knew he wanted to wake up that way for the rest of his life. It was as though his heart had been struck by lightning. Or, more poetically, Cupid's arrow.

After showering, he made perhaps a quicker exit than he should have, kissing her forehead and telling her he'd see her later. He searched for flights to D.C. on his way back to the loft and paused for only one moment as his heart clenched and palms perspired before tapping the "Book Now" icon with the pad of his thumb. Yes it was scary, particularly as his revelation was newfound, but he was also a big believer in going with his gut, and at that moment his gut was screaming.

The early Monday morning flight was full of commuters hopping from one major metropolis to another, but Castle didn't think much of it. His viewpoint was singular. As he sat in his aisle seat for the hour and twenty minute flight, his leg bounced rhythmically up and down. He tried to focus on one of the seatback pocket magazine, but his reading ability failed him as his focus remained on finding the quickest route from the airport to his downtown destination.

Of course Venus wasn't the real name for the United States Soulmate Matching Bureau, merely its colloquial one. Each country contained only one soulmate matching location, generally in that nation's capital city. Castle had occasionally wondered how it had been done back seventy-plus years earlier when it was less official, less managed, but as he had little interest in it to that point, he had never included it with his other research.

Upon arrival, Castle wondered with just how many others he would be in line on that Monday morning. After all, one location needed to serve the country's three hundred million residents. He quickly found his worry to be unfounded; he was only in line with four other people. Upon further thought this made sense. Though three hundred million people could visit the USSMB, they could only do so once in their lifetime, and every single person choosing the same day would have been highly unlikely and unprecedented.

The reason for the one-and-done visit did not have an explanation, at least not officially. Any and all reasons were purely speculation and rumors. The most rumored reason bordered on being a myth or at least a folktale. The story was passed from generation to generation like many other bedtime stories. It spoke of the gods presenting this gift to the citizens of earth: one true soul mate. To enforce upon the people that their journey to find their mate should be arduous—thereby making it worthwhile—they applied the rule of one.

A citizen could only ask the gods one time to confirm the name of their soulmate. If you guessed wrong, you faced no punishment, but the opportunity for your mate's name to be imprinted on your inner wrist was lost forever. It was still possible to have confirmation of finding your soulmate—if, for instance, your partner had not yet made their pilgrimage to Venus, they could do so and you could see your name imprinted on them. Otherwise, they mystery would never be solved.

Despite being married twice and having numerous other relationships varying in seriousness, Castle had never been tempted to make his trip to Venus. Only once, during his college relationship with a woman named Kyra Blaine, had he suspected he may have found the illustrious "one," but then she left for Europe, he didn't follow, and such thoughts faded away. Now, he faced the well-worn stone doors with a different name in his heart. That of a woman with whom he'd barely shared more than a one night stand, but despite their lack of extensive romantic relationship, they were connected on a deeper level; he knew it in his bones.

Fingers tremoring with the slightest bit of nerves, Castle pushed open the door to find himself in a small alcove. His initial reaction was that every movie he had seen depicted this _completely_ inaccurately, which, oddly, both annoyed him and amused him in that moment. Once alone in the room, Castle surveyed the set up before him. A stone table top with a slot opening just large enough for a hand sat centrally. The surrounding white walls were bare but for a very large sign with black block printed letters detailing the instructions of his encounter.

 _NOTICE: You may only request you soulmate match ONE time; chose carefully_

 _1)_ _Insert left hand into slot palm down; grasp handhold tightly. If you are wearing long sleeves, expose several inches of your wrist before doing so._

 _2)_ _Speak the following words, "I, [your full name], believe my soulmate to be [the full name of your suspected mate], of [city and state]"_

 _3)_ _Please note, you must use the_ _birth name_ _of both yourself and your mate; no post-birth name changes will be accepted_

 _4)_ _Once you have done this, grasp the handhold for ten seconds. If you have spoken the name of your soulmate, you will feel the heat of the tattoo on your inner wrist. If you do not feel the tattoo after ten seconds, remove your hand_

Castle read the instructions twice over, focusing finally on the note at the bottom. He was glad the instructions were printed on the wall, for he had not known about the name change restriction, and as he had changed his name that particular point pertained to him. He also considered the full name and location requirements. What if there was a second Katherine Beckett living in Manhattan? That was certainly plausible, but he had to hope the cosmos knew that and adjusted their algorithms accordingly.

Stepping up to the stone counter, Castle sucked in a deep breath and pushed it out slowly past his lips. He would not have second thoughts. He would not second guess. He would go with his gut; it was now or never.

Gingerly, he slid his left hand into the slot and felt his fingers slip around the handhold described in the instructions; it had been worn glass-smooth from centuries of fellow humans mirroring his movements. He wondered briefly how many more could grip the handle before it wore through or broke off, but then shook off this question and cleared his throat. Reading from the sign, he spoke loudly, "I, Richard Alexander Rodgers, believe my soulmate to be Katherine Houghton Beckett, of Manhattan, New York, New York."

The fire against his wrist was instant. He gritted his teeth and closed his fingers painfully tight around the handhold. As quick as it came, it was over; he doubted it lasted more than several milliseconds.

With the heat gone, Castle decided to count to five slowly—just in case. Then, he released his grip on the handle and slid his hand carefully from the slot. When the sleeve of his shirt brushed against his wrist, he hissed out in discomfort. No one had warned him how painful it would be!

Turning his hand palm up, he pulled at the sleeve and found the words he'd hoped for. In the same barely-there almost skin-toned lettering he'd seen on Esposito and Ryan, two words were printed neatly on his wrist. _Katherine Beckett_.

So he had been right; his gut had been right. Beckett—Kate—was his soulmate. No questions existed; no uncertainty. It was there—quite literally—in print.

Delicately, he skimmed his index finger over the second word, testing the skin for sensitivity. It felt like a second-degree burn, like he'd brushed his wrist against the inside of the oven while removing dinner. The edges around the lettering were beginning to flare red. He glanced around to see if there were any after care instructions—like if he should cover the area in antiseptic cream—but there were none, so he figured it would be fine.

Soft smile on his face, he turned to leave the secluded room and nodded politely to the next person in line, a nervous looking twenty-something woman popping chewing gum between her lips. "Good luck," he said to her in a friendly tone.

"Were you right?" she asked as he skirted past her.

He paused, but only for a second. "Yeah, yeah I was."

* * *

 **A/N: The second, final part will be posted Saturday**

 **Thanks**


	2. Chapter 2

When Castle walked into the twelfth precinct on Tuesday morning he could barely contain himself. He was so anxious—so excited—to see Kate— _his soulmate_ —that for the first time since the early weeks of shadowing her he had forgotten to pick up coffee for her. But that was okay—he'd make her some from the precincts espresso machine. Or he'd go back out and buy her some. Or he'd go out and buy her a Starbucks franchise. It didn't matter; he just had to see her.

Stepping out of the elevator, Castle took a moment to contain himself and reign in his enthusiasm. He could not simply run up to her, roll up the sleeve of his shirt and thrust his wrist in her face while shouting like a maniac. Kate Beckett would not respond well to that—this much he knew. Telling Kate about his discovery would take finesse and subtlety; his timing had to be precise.

During his flight back from DC and for almost the entire evening after, Castle thought about his new position—their new position—and debated heavily how to reveal it. He saw himself walking a tightrope between telling her too soon and freaking her out and withholding the information too long and upsetting her. He did not wish either scenario to take place. He wanted her to be happy about this discovery—just like he was.

On his way to the precinct that morning he decided that he would invite her to dinner—an official first date for them—and see how the evening went. If she seemed receptive to the idea of them as a couple, perhaps he would tell her after they left the restaurant. If she seemed hesitant, he would wait until she seemed more comfortable. He did foresee a problem with the second scenario—namely that she would certainly notice the tattoo the next time she saw him naked, but as long as he kept his watch on he might buy himself a few days.

In his mind, there was no question that the detective would want to embark on a relationship with him—no question. Their night together had been incredible and he was convinced she agreed with him on that point. She certainly had at the time. Yet he also knew she protected her heart fiercely, but he would win her over; they were destined.

Taking one more deep breath in and blowing it out his pursed lips, the writer approached the detective's desk. He forced his mouth into a neutral position and attempted to calm his thundering heart, but it was no use. Just the sight of the back of her head made him grin. God, the rest of his life with Kate Beckett; he couldn't wait!

"Good morning, Detective!"

She didn't look up. She didn't smile. From her non-reaction, he might have thought she had not heard him or recognized his voice, which seemed absurd, until she said in a clipped tone, "Where have you been?"

"I…oh, you mean yesterday?" He tried to play off her question as casual as he sat in the chair by her desk. "Had some errands to run."

She flicked her eyes in his direction. "I tried calling you twice; it went right to voicemail."

Shit, he thought, nearly cursing aloud. The only time his phone had been off was when he was on the plane. What were the odds of Kate calling at those exact times? Admittedly, he hadn't called her, which was his fault, but he'd been so distracted—and excited! He honestly hadn't thought about it. "I'm sorry about that, but I'm here now, and I was wondering if-"

"We should probably talk."

He leaned back in his seat. Her expression indicated irritation and perhaps a bit of anger and, okay, that was fair. He was a bit of an idiot for not calling her, but he would make up for that with dinner. And dessert.

"I was thinking that myself. Actually I was hoping we could go to dinner."

She blinked at him. "I don't think that's a good idea."

His heart rate sped again, but for an entirely different reason. "You…don't?"

"No."

"Why?"

The detective's eyes grazed around the room before she tuned back to him and said in a hushed tone, "This isn't exactly the place."

He bobbed his head. "I don't disagree, but I'd also like to know what's going on."

She locked her computer and then stood from her chair, jerking her head as an indication that he should follow. He stood and trailed several feet behind her as she led the way towards the stairwell, which would afford them the opportunity of several minutes' private conversation. Once the metal door closed behind him he asked, "What's going on, Kate?"

She raked her hands through her hair, tucking large chunks of billowing curls behind her ears before clasping her hands together and looking up at him. "The other night—after Kev and Jenny's wedding—was nice."

"More than nice, I think." He interjected.

She smiled at him, though only for a fraction of a second. "Yes, but, the thing is: I just don't think it's a good idea."

"What?"

"Us."

He sensed it was coming, yet still the word felt like a sucker punch to his gut. He even took a half step back until his heel connected with the concrete wall of the stairwell. Kate Beckett—his soulmate—was rejecting him as a romantic partner. "I…I don't understand."

"I don't think we should sleep together."

He shook his head, his brow furrowing. "You mean just sleep together? I don't either. Kate, I-"

"The thing is," she jumped in before any romantic notions could escape his lips. "I'm not really into relationships."

Subconsciously, Rick's right thumb drifted towards the still-raw spot on his left inner wrist. The skin was still slightly irritated. So much so that he left his watch his home that day, so the pad of his thumb was able to graze back and forth against her tattooed name. "What does that mean?"

"I'm trying to make second grade detective and dating would just be a distraction right now."

"A distraction." He echoed the words as they shot a spear into his heart and twisted it. "That's what you think we'd be?"

She merely shrugged. "Look, um, if you need to keep shadowing us for…research or whatever, that's fine. Do what you need to do, but maybe you could work with Ryan and Espo on some cases for a while?"

"Ryan and Espo."

"Yeah."

"I see." Anger filling him, he turned his head and bit down onto his bottom lip, forcing down the emotions swirling within him. Part of him wanted to rip his shirt sleeve up that second and show her why her words were absolutely absurd, but that was not the part of him that won out. The part of him that won was the one with the spike searing in his chest. Worse yet, the woman he was meant to love had been the one to put it there.

She was scared, he got that; hell, so was he. But he was willing to try—to give them a shot, but all she wanted to do was run. Turning back to her, he lifted his chin bravely and asked, "Is that really what you want, Kate?"

When she nodded in conformation, he cleared his throat and turned towards the exit. "Well, then. I, ah, guess I'll see you around."

* * *

"Castle, hey…are you leaving?"

 _So close_ , the writer thought to himself before spinning around and offering a pleasant smile to the female detective he hadn't said more than five words to in months. He'd wanted to slip in and slip out of the Twelfth and when he arrived and found her desk vacant he thought he could be successful on his mission, but she had caught him mere feet from the elevator. Perhaps it was for the best. Avoiding her was a childish response to his aching heart and he didn't want to react that way anymore; he was trying to be a better man than that.

Clearing his throat, he slipped both hands into his pants pockets and explained his presence. "Yeah, just wanted to give the boys the Knicks tickets I owed them."

Her brow wrinkled. "You…weren't going to say hi?"

He merely shrugged. "Didn't see you at your desk so I thought you might have been out on a case."

She nodded, accepting this explanation. Folding her arms across her chest she said, "It's, uh, been a while."

"Almost three months, yeah."

"How've you been? Oh—how's the book?" she asked with genuine-sounding interest.

"Finished, actually."

"Really? So soon?"

He did not take offense to her surprised tone for he had surprised even himself—Gina had practically doubled over from the shock. As it turned out, when he really, really dedicated himself to something he could be successful at it—who would have thought? Fueled by his emotions for her both positive and negative, he cranked out quite a thrilling tale that, as it stood then, would be a stand-alone book, not the series he'd originally promised. He simply didn't have the heart to continue Nikki Heat's tales without her inspiration in his life.

"Yeah the book really came together. Went to the publishers last week. I should have a draft copy soon. They want to publish as quickly as they can since, you know, it's been awhile since Storm's last."

She hummed. "Sure. I, uh, I can't wait to read it."

"I'll make sure you get a copy."

"Great."

"Great."

They stood quietly for a few moments and, just as Castle was about to formulate an excuse to leave, the detective took a step towards him and spoke in a lower tone. "You, um…you never came around again."

Fighting to keep his tone from showing just how singed his heart had been by her callus attitude, he said, "I didn't think you wanted me to."

Her eyes flashed with hurt for a moment before she took another step closer, bringing them barely two feet apart. "No I…I just. I didn't want to mislead you or think we could be…more than friends."

"Friends." He echoed in an even tone.

"Yeah, friends. I never meant to make you think we couldn't remain friends and if I did I apologize."

Well, that was at least something—better than what he'd had for eleven weeks. As a man far more optimistic than most, he had never written her off entirely, but she had hurt him by dismissing their relationship because of what he believed to be her own fears and uncertainties. Given that it was her name tattooed on his wrist and no one else's he did want them to be together—it only made sense, but he also didn't think it was fair to be the only one fighting for their relationship.

Moving his hands so that they were clasped in front of him, he rubbed his thumb over the inside of his left wrist, just above the watch band. There her name was—he could almost feel the raised lettering. Even if their relationship didn't come to fruition—something almost unheard of for soulmates—he would always carry a piece of her with him, but was that enough? Could it be enough? Or, perhaps, could friendship be the gateway to something more? As much as he wanted it to be all or nothing, he felt she deserved another chance.

"Ah, yeah…okay, Kate. We can be friends."

A smile blossomed across her face. "Great! Maybe we can get coffee next week and catch up?"

He bobbed his head. "Sure Kate; coffee sounds good."

"I'll call you."

He nodded, feeling more hopeful than he'd been in weeks. "Okay; I'll talk to you later."

* * *

The evening began as ordinary as any other. With his daughter too cool to spend time at home with her dad, Castle was left to his own devices, so he had decided to work on some notes for a potential new book. Naturally, this meant that he'd spent an hour and a half watching dozens of YouTube videos of teens and young adults wiping out on their skateboards, bicycles, roller blades, or, really, any form of wheeled transportation. He was just about to knuckle down and get to work when the knock at his front door came.

Curious, he padded across the foyer in his bare feet and whipped open the door without thinking. His eyes opened wide when he saw the brown-haired detective, her eyes reflecting an unusual amount of green that evening. "Beckett… what are you doing here?"

"I…I'm not sure."

An unexpected answer as she was the one who turned up on his doorstep, but it didn't faze him. He invited her inside and shut the door gently behind her. When he turned, he found her tugging at the belted waistband of her mahogany brown trench coat. He offered to take it from her as he kept his apartment warm enough for him to walk around in a t-shirt, even in the winter. She nodded and shrugged off the coat without speaking.

"So…what's up?" he asked after tossing the jacket over the nearby coatrack.

"I…read the book."

"Oh."

Well that explained her presence at least a little bit. His publisher had confirmed the delivery of her book almost two weeks earlier. The copy was a draft copy—one with no cover art, dedication page, or finalized formatting. It also came with a very threatening-sounding non-disclosure agreement, but he'd wanted her to have it as soon as it was available; she deserved that—and it was his one last shot of hopefully changing her mind.

Ever since meeting up again at the Twelfth they had not exactly made good on their promise to be friends. They had coffee the following week as Kate promised and dinner a few days later, but after that their relationship seemed to fade away once more. At first he understood—a major multiple homicide case had been dropped in her lap. It was high profile, involving members of the DA's extended family and thus required a great deal of her attention, but after his third voice mail message wasn't returned, he didn't bother calling again.

Along with the book from the publisher, Castle had included a note thanking her for allowing him to shadow her as long as she had. He called her extraordinary and wished her great happiness, which implied a sense of closure he didn't truly believe in—not with her name imprinted on his wrist. Yet, at the same time, he hoped it would nudge her into realizing that there was more to their story. He hoped she would reach out, but when days passed and she had not, he feared he had made a mistake; he feared she believed the note to imply he was no longer interested in building their relationship, which could not have been further from the truth. Now that she had turned up on his doorstep—far more dramatic than a phone call in his mind—maybe they did have a chance.

Gazing up at him she shook her head gently. "It was incredible, Castle. Definitely your best—and I'm not just saying that because it's, you know, kind of about me…"

He offered a small smile. "Well thank you; that's very kind to say."

"It's the truth." She continued. "And…and as I read it, it made me think that I…I might have screwed up. With us."

Castle's heart fluttered and the inside of his left wrist tingled. "How so?" he responded, trying not to let the hope show too strongly in his voice.

Her eyes dipped and she spoke softly, "I got scared. I was too hasty. But," she paused to look up at him again, a tentative expression on her face. "I was thinking maybe… I mean, maybe if you're interested. Who knows? Maybe we could…try…"

Try? Oh they would do more than just try; they would succeed! But only—only—if he was one hundred percent honest with her. Though he was still nervous that knowing their soulmate status might scare her off in her already skittish state, he knew that keeping the truth from her was one of the reasons she ran form him in the first place. Furthermore, he did not want to start their relationship with a lie—or, rather, an undisclosed truth.

He offered her a smile. "Kate listen, before we talk about that, I need to tell you something."

"Oh?"

He nodded and reached out for her with his left arm. "Here, let's sit down."

He had intended to lead her to the couch with his hand gently on her arm or shoulder, but before his fingertips could even graze her flesh she hopped back from him as though she'd been prodded with several thousand volts of electricity. "What's that?" she demanded, eyes wide.

Truly confused, he looked down at himself and then up at her. "What's what?"

"Your wrist…oh god."

Her voice sounded ill and Castle's heart sank. As he wore a t-shirt and no watch, the skin on his left wrist was fully exposed to her for the first time since his trip to Venus. He'd been so distracted with formulating the exact way to reveal the truth to her in his mind, he never even thought about her seeing the tattoo! Shit! This was not how he wanted her to find out. As he had not flipped his hand upside-down, he doubted she had been able to read her own name, perhaps she'd just seen the K or caught enough of a glimpse to know what it was. The location was a dead-giveaway.

Before he could speak, she took two more steps back from him, her eyes darting back and forth as though pulling up a memory from her brain's hard drive. "You—you were touching it when we met up last month and I just…I thought it was nerves or something but you… You found your soulmate and I…I'm sorry."

She darted around him so quickly he hardly had time to react. "Kate!" By the time he faced her, she was already pulling her jacket off the clothes tree.

Shaking her head as she pulled it on to her left arm, she said, "I shouldn't-"

He stepped towards her. "Kate, wait a second-"

"No, I-"

"-you don't understand-"

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry." She scurried out the door and slammed it so quickly behind her that it caught the edge of her heel and bounced open.

Castle stood in the entryway of his apartment for five seconds, breathing and planning his next move. He wanted to explain, but damn her defensive instincts. He wanted to do this calmly, rationally, but she left him no choice. Still barefoot, he charged out into the hallway after her and was able to see the edge of her coattails disappearing into the alcove with the elevator.

He broke into a near-sprint and reached the edge of the alcove just as her finger lifted from the elevator call button. Knowing he had only one chance to grab her attention, he could think of nothing but to repeat the words he'd said to an ancient stone table months earlier. "Katherine Houghton Beckett."

He watched her shoulders flinch as her body froze in place. He took one step closer and lowered his voice to just above a whisper.

"Please. Please come back to my apartment. Please; let's talk about this."

The elevator doors opened with a ding, but she didn't step towards them. Instead they remained frozen there, their own versions of wax figures, until after a minute the elevator doors closed and the car descended, vacant. Only then did she turn around, tears evident in her eyes. She searched his face before looking down at his left arm, dangling limp at his side, and then back up to him. Seeing this as a sign, Castle held out his left arm to her.

From her angle, she would have been reading the letters upside down, but it appeared she was able to recognize her own name, for she had only been looking at his wrist a moment before she brought a hang up to cover her mouth and a single tear escaped her right eye.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I was trying to tell you. I wanted to tell you. I just…I wasn't sure how."

She didn't speak, but shook her head back and forth slowly as tears fell at more even intervals. She was clearly stunned and he could not blame her for that; he had been a whirlwind prior few minutes for her. Tentatively, he approached her until his extended left hand was within touching distance of her. He rotated it so that his wrist faced down once more and brushed his fingertips carefully against her arm, saying her name softly. Fortunately, she did not need more convincing; she stepped forward and allowed him to gather her up in his embrace.

Castle wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her close and letting her tuck her body into his, her head falling against the crook of his neck and her trembling fingers resting cautiously at his sides. He kissed the side of her head and apologized once more. "I'm sorry. I should have told you—found a way—but I was trying to do what you asked and give you space."

"No, no." She sniffled out. "This is my fault; you shouldn't apologize."

He brushed his lips over her hair once more and then gently pulled back from there embrace. "C'mon," he said, giving her an encouraging smile. "Let's go sit down and talk about this."

With his arm gently around her shoulders he was able to coax her back to the apartment. She stood rather statuesque in the entry way as he helped her with her coat and then reached out to guide her towards the couch, but before he could succeed she snatched his left hand with hers and drew it in, painting the pads of her thumbs across the shadow of her name on his wrist. Castle's breath caught in his chest; somehow, he could just feel her letting go of her armor.

Looking up at him, her eyes now rimmed in red, she sniffed back some tears and asked simply, "When?"

"After Kev and Jenny's wedding."

She turned her gaze towards the ceiling and shook her head, brushing her fingers quickly beneath her nose. "I thought you left because you didn't want to face me; that you regretted what happened that night."

"No, god no!" He insisted. He hated that she thought that especially since his true feelings could not have been more opposite. "I went to Venus Monday morning. Spur of the moment," he added dumbly.

"Oh my god." The words came out as a squeak and she covered her face with her hands again.

Jumping into action, Castle slipped his arm around her shoulders and guided her to the couch. "Here. Sit down. It's okay."

"No, it's not."

He quickly retrieved a tissue box, set it on the coffee table in front of her, and joined her.  
"Why not?"

She didn't respond, only shook her head and grabbed several tissues. She held them to her eyes and beneath her nose for the better part of three minutes before her tears subsided. Once they did, she reached out for his left hand and pulled it towards her. Both her thumbs traced over the letters of her name again and again as though only her direct contact with them could make her believe.

Castle didn't speak. He didn't want to ruin the moment for her—for them. He knew she needed time to process. Hell, he'd known for four months and still wasn't sure he fully grasped the gravity of it all. Still, his stomach was twisting. He wanted her to say something—anything. Express her horror; her relief. Anything other than silence.

When her right hand fell into his left she closed her fingers around his palm; he mirrored her action. With her left thumb still resting on his wrist etching, she spoke gently. "My parents…my mother—she never wanted to know. She was like me—didn't buy into the whole one person for everyone thing; it didn't make sense."

She lifted her head to give him a watery-eyed smile. "My father did. He wanted them to go to Venus when they were engaged, but she said no. What if they didn't match? How could they stay together after that? She just wanted them to be happy, and he agreed. Then, after I was born, he asked again and she agreed to go.

"I remember I was about twelve when she told me this. She said, 'Katie you have to make up your own mind. If you never want to go to Venus, I won't blame you. I would have felt the same way, but I'm glad I went. There's nothing better than seeing your name etched on the arm of the man you love.' I never believed her—not until now."

Castle's heart fluttered at her words. Had she just said that she loved him? Possibly, in a roundabout sort of way. This surprised him as even he struggled with how he felt with regards to the all-important "L" word. In some ways, he fell in love with her the evening they sat at her desk and she told him the story of her mother's tragic death. In others, it was their first kiss and subsequent night together that pushed him over the edge. Still, he knew there was so much he didn't know about her, he wondered how justified that love even was. Then again, it may have been the soulmate kind—the kind that deepened over a lifetime together.

She grabbed onto his left hand and pulled him just a little closer to her. Staring up into his azure eyes she said, "Seeing this…seeing this means hope. For me, for us. Seeing this means that….that I won't be alone."

The crack of her voice on the last syllable shattered his heart. Alone? God, was that what she thought? How she feared she would end up? With all of her walls and armor, had she never entertained the possibility of someone like him breaking through? He hated that, but was happy that a simple marking on his wrist could alleviate all that doubt for her.

"You're not alone, Kate; you'll never be alone—not if you don't want to be."

The smile blossoming across her face was the only response he needed. It started slow, growing from the right side of her lips before bursting out into a full grin. She pulled her hands from his and flung her arms around his neck. Laughing, he pulled her in close, nuzzling his face against the crook of her neck.

They held each other tight, rocking gently back and forth before Castle placed a few gentle kisses against her neck, her jaw, her cheek, and finally one against her lips. She grasped his face in-between her hands and pressed their mouths together more firmly, immediately flooding his mind with memories of their one and only night together.

When she released his face, he pulled back and nudged his nose against hers. "So," he asked softly, "what now?"

Her eyes fluttered open and her hands drifted down his chest until she could catch his left hand again and press her thumb against the tattoo. Her eyes shining, she said, "I thought I'd leave that up to you. Tell me our story, Castle."

With the subtle shaking of his head, he told her, "I can't; it's just beginning."

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you all for reading & reviewing this one-shot turned two-shot and i hope you enjoyed this little Soulmate AU

Up next is **Metamorphosis** \- a 3 part story - semi-post-apocalyptic AU set after To Love  & Die in LA

Thanks again!


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